No.I shoved the thought away before it could fully form. Because Tavish and Albie werenotdead. I’d feel it.
Wouldn’t I?
We’d never sealed the mate bond, but they were mine. I’d known it from the beginning. I’d just been too stubborn and scared to admit what was right in front of me. If they were dead, I’d feel the loss like a wound.
Dragging in a few deep breaths, I got to my feet. I started walking, following one of the paths because I couldn’t just stand still and do nothing. My square-heeled Mary Janes clicked against the concrete.
Tears burned my eyes.
Tavish had buckled them on me. The memory of his fingers on my ankles, his touch sure and certain, was so strong I had to look down to make sure he wasn’t kneeling in front of me.
But he wasn’t, of course.
I blinked hard, refusing to let the tears fall. A park spread before me, the paths winding between trees and flowerbeds bursting with roses and marigolds. More people appeared as I walked. A woman in white gloves pushed a pram, the canopy pulled low to shield her baby from the sun. Two men in suits and skinny ties played chess at a picnic table. A young couple ate ice cream cones on a park bench, the woman’s pink cat-eye sunglasses the same shade as her capris. But the other women in the park wore long shorts or knee-length skirts. Most of the men wore hats.
Everyone looked slightly dressed up. Put together in a way that was both familiar and strange. American accents buzzed around me, and the setting clicked into place.
Central Park.
I was in New York City. And if I had to guess, it was the 1960s.
More than one person cast me curious looks as they passed, and I smoothed a self-conscious hand down my dress, which was sleeveless and covered in tiers of dangling black beads that shivered around my calves. The design might have fit in just fine at a dinner party, but it was too flashy for a casual walk in the park. I wasn’t even wearing underwear.
I reached for my dragon, waiting for the familiar itch to bloom over my skin. I strained toward the fire that always burned too hot. Waited for the ropes of my control to fray and snap. But there was nothing. My beast was burrowed so deep she was little more than a faint shadow at the edge of my mind.
Ducking my head, I walked faster, eventually making my way to the street. Skyscrapers loomed in every direction, and yellow taxis belched exhaust. Humans crossed the street and wove up and down the sidewalks. A hot dog vendor called out to passersby. A cocktail of scents filled the air, roasting meat, exhaust fumes, and the slightly sweet scent of rotting garbage forming layers that swelled and receded like waves against the shore.
I stopped at a newsstand, my gaze catching on the stack of papers.
The New York Times
June 14, 1964
“You in a show?”
I turned. A man in a fedora grinned at me, displaying a gap between tobacco-stained teeth.
“Excuse me?” I asked. “I didn’t catch that.”
“Broadway.” He gestured to my dress. “Thought you might be one of them actresses.”
My fingers went to a fringe of beads before I could stop myself. “Um, no. I’m not an actress.”
He cocked his head. “Funny accent. You sure you’re not on Broadway?”
“Positive,” I said.
He raised his eyebrows, looking unconvinced. “Well, good luck to ya.” Tipping his hat, he walked away.
My mind raced as he blended into the crowd. I needed to blend in, too. Eventually, the sun would set, and I’d need a place to sleep. But I didn’t even have abra, let alone money. The chronomancer’s bag was gone, and my dragon was burrowed so deep in my mind it was like she didn’t exist. I was stranded in 1964 New York with nothing but a flapper dress and a pair of Mary Janes.
Panic bubbled up, threatening to overwhelm me. I forced it down and kept walking.
I wandered through the streets, letting the crowd carry me. Neon signs flashed overhead. Music spilled from open doorways. Theater marquees announced showings ofHello, Dolly!andFunny Girl.
The sun beat down on my bare shoulders. Sweat gathered at my hairline, and blisters formed on my heels. Fatigue and hunger meant my body was slow to repair them, and the pinching pain built with every step.
After what felt like hours, I stumbled toward a sidewalk cafe and plopped into a metal chair at an empty table.
